Frühlingspläne 2026

When the scurvy idea o’ sailin’ ‘round this blue marble first struck us like a cannonball to th’ mizzen, there be but one mighty kraken standin’ in our way: we ain’t got the faintest blasted clue how to wrangle a ship! ARRR! That sort o’ thing sets me timbers a-shiverin’, but Alex, the salty dog, tells me, “We got all the blasted time o’ the seven seas to learn, an’ that’s just what we be plannin’ for 2026, by thunder!”

Th’ Preparation

We got an itch to try out every devil-spawned variety o’ yacht we can set foot on—partly to stuff some learnin’ in our skulls and partly t’ figure what cursed hulk we might actually fancy livin’ on, should we avoid Davy Jones’ Locker.

Ye can rent these briny vessels, or “charter” ’em, as honest pirates call it. The catch? Ye need an internationally blessed paper sayin’ ye know yer ropes, plus a radio parchment. Me snatched th’ German Sportbootküstenschein—SKS—in th’ fall, ARRR! Alex bagged her RYA radio scroll.

The Plan

Come March, we’ll spend near two moons in Croatia, where th’ seas be thick with rookie sailors and every port has what a greenhorn needs. Blimey, even our sailin’ school, JoJo München, hoists its colors down there.

Th’ SKS be a three-day barrel o’ theory an’ a week rockin’ the briny! Shiver me wisdom, I still ain’t got sand enough in me boots t’ skipper a full-blown yacht, so I’m takin’ a week o’ skipper training—deeper into the murky depths fer those with an SKS.

Th’ next week, Alex’ll snatch her sailin’ parchment. She wants naught o’ the barnacle-crusted SKS—too much theory an’ older than me grandpappy’s peg leg! She’s fishin’ for th’ American Sailing Association’s badges, ASA 101, 102, and 104. They cram all the know-how into a single, hurricane-sized week! The whole show’s in Rijeka, with us bunkin’ in a scurvy flat fer two weeks.

Charly

Since we be draggin’ our mutt Charly along, we’ll be tradin’ off on these courses an’ pupper-watch. Truth be told, it ain’t a cursed idea—each o’ us can steal tricks from t’other’s kit.

Monohull

After that, we’ve charted ourselves a Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 410 for a spell, then a 440. Blimey, the Sun Odyssey be the workhorse o’ Europe—modern as a siren’s song and priced to make a pirate weep with joy. But word at the dock is these “production” boats be built just sturdy enough fer the charter circuit, meanin’ they ain’t meant to last past a handful o’ seasons. We might could picture ourselves on such a ship—but let’s see what mischief reality has planned, arrr!

Catamaran

Now, a catamaran—ARRR!—that’s a beast of another breed. With two hulls, it handles sloppy as a drunken quartermaster: slower, can’t nose up to the wind’s armpit. But, by Poseidon’s beard, ye get room enough to swing a cutlass an’ live in comfort fit fer a pirate king. Sailin’ an’ wranglin’ her be a different game, so we’ve plundered a week more o’ catamaran trainin’ with JoJo. I’ll tackle th’ first half, then Alex’ll take her turn.

Next, we’ll commandeer a Nautitech 40—a rare bird an’ our top pick so far (in the logbook, at least)—then try th’ Lagoon 380, a mass-market tub with all the same headaches as the other commoners.

We’re as curious as a cabin boy in the grog locker, thinkin’ after these four vessels, we’ll know what tricks and traps th’ modern fleet has to offer. Come autumn, we’ll hunt down some older, fancier ships, but right now we’re still swabbies—no need t’ sink a fancy tub our first time out, eh?

And then

By then, summer’ll be breathin’ down our neck like a kraken in heat, an’ we won’t charter no more ships—first, every landlubber crowds the docks, and second, th’ price o’ a week goes from a handful of doubloons to a king’s ransom. We’ll steer our horseless carriage through Italy, makin’ for Greece (stayin’ in th’ EU fer Charly’s sake). Then we’ll meander homeward through Bulgaria, Romania, Hungary, an’ Austria. Somewhere along the way, Mäge’ll swing aboard to join the madness for a spell.

So hoist the anchor and man the mainbrace, me hearties—the adventure be only just beginnin’! ARRR!

Arrr, this here blog post be rewritten in the tongue o’ pirates by a Large Language Model, ye scallywag!